The Big Hunt Read online

  A movement caught the corner of Kerry’s eye. Turning his head, he saw Shaun loping fast along the trail. He had left the dog with the main body and could not understand what sent Shaun rushing off in such a manner. There was no time to worry about that. While he had silenced the three look-outs, his work had not ended. Lord Henry and half the men advanced on foot, darting from cover to cover in an attempt to close on the cabins without being detected. Doing so with living look-outs would have been impossible. Even without them, it was far from a sinecure. To give the others a chance, Kerry had to watch the cabins and shoot down anybody who came out and gave a sign of spotting the advancing attackers.

  While altering the setting of the Sharps’s rear sight, Kerry saw a figure dash from one of the hidden cabins and make for the wagon. Before he could line his rifle, he recognized the shape as Calamity Jane. Then men appeared at the various cabin doors, but their attention was on the girl and none gave a sign of noticing the approaching attackers. Kerry saw the man before the main cabin draw a gun and knew he must cut in. Taking careful aim at the man’s body, as offering the easiest target, he squeezed the trigger and the rifle roared.

  Even at longer ranges than five hundred yards, a Sharps rifle packed enough power to fell a bull buffalo. Its effect upon a man was even more terrible. Before he could shoot at Calamity, the man caught a bullet full in the chest. It flung him bodily backward, through the open door and into the cabin from which he had just emerged.

  The body landed almost at Varley’s feet as he rushed across the room to investigate the cause of the disturbance. While not being an expert in such matters, Varley needed only one glance to tell him no revolver caused that wound, or packed the power to throw a grown man backward in such a manner.

  From outside came a distant but ringing bellow of “Charge!” the crackle of shots, shouts from closer at hand and a scream. Varley felt as if a cold hand touched him, realizing what the sounds meant when taken together. Turning, Varley darted across the room to the rear door. Maybe nothing would come of the attack, but he felt no harm could come from his taking precautions. He could collect a horse from the corral and lead it up the steep path of the rear wall to the cave and have all prepared for making good his escape should that become necessary.

  While trying to free herself from Weiss’ hands, Beryl heard the rapid patter of approaching feet and a roaring snarl. Led to her by her scent carried by the wind along the gorge, Shaun came rushing to Beryl’s rescue. Weiss saw the big dog and released the girl, thrusting her aside with one hand and reaching for his gun with the other. Even as the gun cleared leather, Shaun hit the man, teeth clamping him on the arm. Pain knifed through Weiss, his arm went numb and he dropped the gun. Then Shaun’s weight brought the man crashing to the ground. Like a flash Shaun changed his hold, mouth releasing the arm and driving for the throat.

  Beryl felt horror-struck for an instant as she watched the dog’s powerful jaws clamp on the man’s throat. Then concern for Weiss ended as she realized that her own danger was far from past. If any of the men from the cabins could lay hands on her, they had a hostage to be used against her friends. More than that, she must try to carry out the duty Calamity gave her.

  Bending down, Beryl scooped up her revolver in one hand and grabbed Weiss’ dropped weapon with the other. She saw Varley appear at the door of the main cabin just as she reached the corral. The man started toward her, saw her raise the revolver and hesitated. Then his nerve gave way and he decided not to chance rushing the determined-looking girl. Swinging around, he darted off at an angle, heading for the rear wall of the gorge. Beryl watched the man go, then, before she could decide, found something to distract her attention.

  With the look-outs down, Lord Henry led half the party on foot down the gorge. They were within fifty yards of the cabins, Calamity holding the attention of the men from the cabins, before anybody noticed them. Giving a bellow of “Charge!” Lord Henry threw up his Winchester and fired. On the heels of his shot, every man of his party cut loose in a creditable volley. Almost every member of the hunting party carried a repeating rifle and continued to shoot fast while the soldiers reloaded their Springfield carbines.

  Caught under the withering blast of fire, still feeling the effects of an extensive carouse the previous night, Varley’s men could not take advantage of their superior numbers. Five men went down, three more caught lesser injuries, and the rest lacked any cohesive reasoning to help them fight back. Some threw down their guns, others tried to make a fight in the open, and a few dashed for the cabins. While most of the latter found themselves singled out for attention, half a dozen, including Rixon, reached the safety of the main cabin.

  Calamity saw the man with the revolver drop, but could not think how he came to die. On hearing her friends’ arrival, she wasted no time in idle thought. Turning, she dived into the wagon and flattened herself down among its load. With the whip in her hand still, she figured she could dissuade any attempt to fetch her out to be used as a hostage.

  Snarling in rage, Potter headed for the wagon. He aimed to either grab Calamity as a hostage, or kill her. Before he reached the wagon, a rifle bullet cut him down.

  Hearing the sounds of the gun battle raging beyond the cabins, Beryl flattened down behind a rock by the corral. A call brought Shaun to her and the big dog, wise in such matters, flattened down by her side. At the main cabin, the rear door drew open again and Rixon emerged. Gripping the revolver in both hands, having laid Weiss’ weapon on the ground, Beryl sighted and fired. At that range she could not hope to make a hit, nor wanted to, but her bullet came close enough to make the man change his mind.

  The final break came when Lieutenant Dalby and Kerry brought the remainder of the men, each leading one of the foot party’s horses, down in a charge. Seeing the newcomers, already thoroughly demoralized, the men before the cabins threw aside their guns and surrendered. Which left those fortunate enough to be under cover as a possible menace to the rescuers.

  “Where’s Beryl?” Kerry bellowed, sliding his gray to a halt and glaring around him.

  Calamity appeared at the end of the wagon and jumped out. “She’s behind the cabins, down by the corral likely.”

  Ignoring the surrendering men or possible danger from those inside the buildings, Kerry charged forward. Five men followed on his heels, but Lord Henry kept the rest in hand and began securing their prisoners, or making for the cabins to see if more of the gang remained unlocated.

  In the main cabin, Rixon looked at the others. None knew what to do for the best, but all wished to escape. Having no idea who handled the revolver behind the corral, they saw their escape cut off and might have thought of fighting had Rixon not been looking from one of the rear windows.

  “It’s Varley,” he snarled. “The bastard’s run out on us.”

  “Where’s he at?” demanded another, a man who had been in the camp for some time. Crossing to the window, he looked out. “He’s headed for the cave. I’m getting out of here.”

  Although Rixon could not see any cause for the man’s sudden decision, most of the others with him knew it and wasted no time following the lead in rushing to the front door.

  “Don’t shoot!” yelped one of the men, throwing his gun out.

  “You’ve got to stop Varley!” a second went on, leaving the cabin with hands in the air.

  Seeing Beryl, Kerry flung himself from his horse and dashed to her. He scooped the girl into his arms and kissed her. Then moving her back to arms’ length, he looked down at her.

  “Did they——” he began.

  “No. Oh, Kerry, I was so afraid.”

  “Easy, honey. It’s all over now.”

  Twisting around, Kerry saw Weiss’ body sprawled on the ground. Never had he felt more grateful to the big wolfhound than at that moment. However, before he could say anything, Lord Henry appeared with two of the gang following on his heels.

  “We have to stop that blighter reaching the cave, Kerry,” the peer declared.


  “Why?”

  “Apparently there’s enough explosives in it to bring down half the gorge’s walls and that’s just what that blighter intends to do.”

  “He’s damned near a quarter of a mile off,” Kerry pointed out. “We’d never reach him in time, nor could Shaun even if we could lay him on a trail.”

  “It’s Varley,” Lord Henry said. “Would he do it?”

  “He’s vindictive enough to try,” Kerry answered. “Damn it, I was in such a rush that I slid down from the ledge and left the Sharps on it.”

  “My Remington’s on the saddle,” Lord Henry said. “Quick, one of you, go and fetch it for me.”

  Having heard enough to realize the gravity of the situation, one of the soldiers who followed Kerry turned and dashed away. On the path, Varley climbed higher and nearer to the cave with each passing second.

  “Where the hell’s my hor——” Lord Henry began.

  “It’s here now,” Kerry replied.

  Springing forward, Lord Henry drew the Remington from its boot and extracted a carton of bullets from the saddle pouch. Kerry studied the climbing shape and thought fast.

  “You’ll need a rest,” he said.

  “No time to get one,” Lord Henry replied.

  “You’d best use my shoulder then.”

  Kerry crouched slightly and the peer rested the Remington’s barrel on his shoulder. Carefully Lord Henry adjusted the sights, ignoring the pleas from one of the prisoners to hurry. Standing like a rock, Kerry watched and waited, hoping that the peer managed to allow for wind and all the other factors which affected accuracy at long ranges. Having seen Lord Henry shoot, the hunter knew he could rely on him to make no mistake.

  On reaching the ledge before the cave, Varley paused. Fear of the consequences filled him and he knew that he could expect no mercy when the women gathered by his companions told their stories. He knew enough about Western men to believe they would never stop hunting anybody connected with the wholesale murder, looting and rape practiced by his community. Only by destroying the evidence would he have a chance of escape. Inside the cave he had the means for that escape. When realizing the kind of men his community attracted, he prepared for the day which would bring retribution. The whole wall was mined with explosives, fused and ready, sufficiently powerful to fetch down enough rock to blot out the cabins and bury any evidence which might be used against him. Nor would the explosion impede his escape. Behind the cave lay a tunnel, carved by some force of nature, which led out beyond the rim. All he need do was pass through the tunnel, light the fuse and be safe. Of course, it would be afoot, but that thought held less terror for him, a big-city man, than it would be to a dweller in the West.

  For all his desire to be safe, he could not resist turning to look down. He was aware that the shooting had ended, but knew nobody from the valley could reach him in time to stop the lighting of the fuses, even assuming the attackers learned of their danger. A superior sneer came to his lips. Those poor fools, pitting their feeble wits against a man of his caliber.

  He died with the sneer still there. Down below, Lord Henry took advantage of Varley’s lack of movement to make sure of his aim. Never had the peer taken such care, nor put so much effort into taking sight. He knew the rifle’s vagaries and took them into account. With foresight and backsight aligned, his finger tightened on the trigger. Kerry stood like a rock, even holding his breath so that no undue movement might disturb the rifle’s barrel. The trigger moved back and the Remington cracked. For what seemed like a very long time—but in reality was less than a second—nothing happened. Then high up the wall Varley jerked, staggered in a circle, missed the edge of the ledge and pitched outward, to plummet down to the ground.

  Chapter 16

  A SATISFIED CLIENT

  THE DEAD WERE BURIED, WOUNDED ATTENDED TO, prisoners secured. In that, Varley’s community might have thought themselves fortunate. When the soldiers and members of the hunting party saw the women and heard their stories, they expressed a determined desire to apply the law of good old Judge Lynch to the survivors. Only Lord Henry’s insistence on legal justice prevented what might have been a massacre. With the Englishman’s sense of such things, the peer demanded that the men be taken to Dalby’s fort to meet with a regular trial. The end result proved to be the same; for Varley guessed correctly about the attitude of the general public to his communities’ activities.

  “We’ll camp here for the night,” Lord Henry decided. “Then tomorrow go to the fort. I don’t think you’ve anything to fear, Mr. Dalby.”

  Nor had the young lieutenant. While his colonel might have objected to him turning from the appointed patrol duty, circumstances made doing so impolitic. Lord Henry saw to that.

  This came later. The party spent a final night in the camp, after Dobe Killem took a party to the cave and defused the explosives. Next morning they pulled out, with the army escorting the gang and Killem driving a wagon carrying the community’s prisoners.

  “I hope you’ll be around for the wedding, Calam,” Beryl said as she rode with her brother, Kerry and the red-head.

  “I reckon I will,” Calamity agreed. “There’s nothing I like better than a wedding—as long as it’s not mine. Have you given up hunting now, Kerry?”

  “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t do this sort of thing, guiding chaps like me, regularly,” Lord Henry went on. “You’ve one satisfied client already.”

  “And he’d have a dissatisfied wife if he tried it,” Beryl snorted. “I’m not sitting at home while he gallivants around hunting. There’ll be too much to do getting our ranch going.”

  “Say, I forgot my Sharps,” Kerry remarked. “It’s still on the ledge. Not that I figure on needing it again. This time I’m really through hunting.”

  “We could leave the rifle behind then,” Beryl smiled. “A kind of symbolic gesture.”

  “That’s an idea,” Kerry agreed, being enough in love to pander to his future wife’s whims.

  “The hell it is,” said the practical Miss Calamity. “Happen you don’t need it any more, take it and sell it. I never saw the gesture yet that felt as good as money. And money comes real handy when you’re starting married life. That’s why I never intend to save any.”

  About the Author

  J.T. EDSON brings to life the fierce and often bloody struggles of the untamed West. His colorful characters are linked by the binding power of the spirit of adventure—and hard work—that eventually won the West. J.T. Edson has proven to be one of the finest craftsmen of Western storytelling of our time.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Books by J.T. Edson

  THE BIG HUNT

  THE ROAD TO RATCHET CREEK

  RUNNING IRONS

  WACO’S BADGE

  TEXAS KILLERS

  COLD DECK, HOT LEAD

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE BIG HUNT. Copyright © 1967 by Brown Watson, Ltd. Copyright © 1968 by Transworld Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Adobe Digital Edition April 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-193173-4

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  *The system is described fully in the author’s book TROUBLE TRAIL.

  * Mixed white and Negro section gang engaged in clearance work.

  † Negro’s derogatory name for a white man from the Southern States.

  * Mid-European freight-yard laborer.

  * Section boss in charge of “gandy dancers.”